“It's Christmas Eve. It's-it's the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we-we-we smile a little easier, we-w-w-we-we-we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year we are the people that we always hoped we would be.”
Frank Cross (Bill Murray) – Scrooged
The other day I saw a commercial on TV. There was a car in the middle of a blue nowhere, surrounded by nothing but fake Christmas trees. Big, fluffy snowflakes fall from the heavens. The color scheme is magnficent. The blue is so soft it’s like someone reimagined it. There is music over the scene: a choir, singing holdiay music. A group of people approach the car, wearing colorful robes. They are not in a circle but the they surround the car, a gleeclub of raindrops. Their mouths are open, singing loudly, strongly, ebulliently. They are celebrating the season. They are selling that car. The Christmas season is upon us.
It doesn’t take a nation of savvy consumers to recognize that this commercial is an monumental shoveling of bullshit. It attempts to manufacture excitement about the purchase of an automobile and tie it into the Spirit of Christmas. It’s a misguided ploy at best and a cynical one at worst. Buying a car might elicit such a response, especially if you love cars, as might the receiving of one but the showrooms are never that beautifully blue and if a choir of angels ever accompanied the purchase of, well, anything, I would hightail it the hell out of that dealership.
This is one example of many such cynical commercials and from time to time I find myself wondering about the people behind these commercials. I wonder where they began and how they came to find themselves in a position to create such commercials. This is futile, of course, but when these judgemental urges hit I always bring myself back to earth by remembering that integirty is slippery, there by the grace of G-d go I, and cliffs don’t always make themselves known until it’s too late. It’s pretty easy to get annoyed by the commercial cynicism of the season.
That said: I love Christmas. I love everything about it. I love the lights, the music, the department store windows, the lighting of the tree in Rockefeller Center, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the eggnog, the Christmas trees, the ornaments, the garlands, the presents, the alcoholic cousin… you get the idea. It’s one of the nicest holiday times a year, from Black Friday all the way up to the last minute shoppers on Christmas even combing the Dollar Stores buying last minute stocking stuffers for their kids. It’s can get ugly, and if you watch the news it may seem like it’s entirely undignified, but if you take a break from it all and walk around you really do notice that outside of ourselves, we are a little nice to each other, we do smile a little easier and the holiday season does provide us with the opportunity to be the people we hoped we’d become or be the people we’d like to be. Maybe it’s the pomp and circumstance of the season, maybe it’s the holiday commericals, television episodes, television specials, and holiday films we watch, maybe the 18 years of holiday breaks we went to as school never leave our bodies or our psyches. Whatever it is and no matter how much stress the holidays provide, the holidays are and opportunity to be our better selves. And if it takes that much more work to find those selves in the midst of all the crap then, as my father and mother used to say, life ain’t fair. And if you don’t believe me, consider the alternative.
So in honor of the holidays and the better people we can all be, I’m dedicating this blog to holiday films. This will not be a countdown of the greatest holiday films of all times. Lists like that are arbitrary and limiting. Some of the films I’ll review will be commercially crass. Some will be cynical as hell. Some will be dishonest on the verge of hateful. But all are films I’ve seen over the years and contain a kernal of some truth about the season. And in the spirit of that season – and given that movies, films, pictures are a reflection of our best and worst selves – I will try to take the best these films have to offer and try to honor the best part of ourselves.
Tomorrow: The Family Stone
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Popcorn
It has been awhile: both since I’ve written (this is nothing new; I’m streaky) and since I’ve been to the movies. Being away from something you love is a strange feeling: like something is far away and no matter what you do you can’t get close to it. As time passes it feels like it’s no big deal but there is always a voice in the back of your head that strongly disagrees. This voice knows better and is probably the one that should be listened to but the distance anaesthetizes the desire and silences the voice, until ignoring it becomes effortless. We become zombies. Not the flesh eating kind (unless you let it go way too far) with expressionless faces who moan constantly and stumble about with arms raised in front of them as if they’ve got solid balls of starch wedged underneath their armpits. I’m talking about the other kind. The kind that wander around in a daze, knowing something is missing but can’t quite figure what it is.
I use the second and third person but the person I’m actually talking about is myself. And I’m only talking about the movies. Can you imagine what the wierdness would feel like if it involved a person? I can imagine it, have imagined it, and it ain’t pretty.
Last Sunday though, Jeremy invited me to see ‘Note by Note: The Making of Steinway L1037’ at the Film Forum and the voice and I became reacquainted. It wasn’t the film, although this thoroughly entertaining tale following the contruction of a Steinway grand piano at the company’s manufacturing plant in Astoria, Queens was worth the trek. It wasn’t the company, although Jeremy is an absolute gem of a movie companion: great taste, thoughtful opinions, an honest laugh and a genuine desire to see and think about the films he sees. (Leigh is great too. I’d see a movie with her any day.) And it wasn’t The Film Forum with its amazing popcorn, its insane programming, and its Jacques Derrida recommended carrot cake gracing the display case. (It’s true. Check it out.)
It was the popcorn.
The Film Forum has the best cinema popcorn I have ever tasted, which is weird because they don’t use butter. It wasn’t the physical fact of the popcorn that did it. Bars serve popcorn which rarely has an effect beyond curing an drunken case of the munchies. Satisfying? Yes. Therapeutic? Not so much.
Have you ever picked up exercising after a long period without it? There’s usually a moment – for me, about five minutes in – when the body recognizes what’s happening. It remembers the activity and adjusts. The moment may be fleeting. Your body may also remember the period of inactivity and tire quickly. But the body is not just remembering and action. The action brings with it a sensation and the sensation carries deep seeded emotions. It amplifies the hidden voice.
During the film, Jeremy and I shared the popcorn and as I popped piece after puffy piece into my mouth, it came back to me, how much I missed being at the movies. Watching the previews, putting my feet up on the seat in front of me, getting lost in the story. I ate that popcorn. I scarfed. I did some serious eating. Near the middle of the film, the popcorn was gone. But it didn’t matter. By that time I, and my love for the movies, was back.
Mini-Reviews –
No Country for Old Men – The new Cohen Brothers movies is relentlessly bleak. The world of the film is unforgiving and its inhabitants ruthless, psychotic, sociopathic and (is this even necessary?) violent. Tommy Lee Jones is amazing; his chiseled face masks a core of helplessness and, most importantly, he acts as the film’s soul, something I never would have expected of this Republican ex-roomate of Al Gore. I loved him. It is also incredibly frightening. Javier Bardim scared the living crap out of me and is the scariest film character since the spectre of Keyser Söze haunted ‘The Usual Suspects.’
Eastern Promises – Viggo Mortensen speaks with a Russian accent. He plays Nikolai, the driver and best friend of Kirill (well played by Vincent Cassell), the son of a russian mobster, Semyon (the annoyingly level-headed – this is a compliment – Armin Mueller-Stahl). He is smarter than he lets on and is not really who he seems. Naomi Watts speaks with an English accent. She plays a midwife who finds a diary written by a 14- year old girl held captive by one of the main characters. I won’t say which one. The film is a class act all around: well written, acted, directed and shot. David Cronenberg fills his film with power struggles, double crosses, complicated characters and unexpected acts of humanity. It’s an interesting film that never quite comes to life. It rolls along with a cold efficiency that never quite lets you into the secret of its humanity. This is probably intentional. I’m still trying to figure out why. This probably has more to say about me than it does about the film. But isn’t that the point?
I use the second and third person but the person I’m actually talking about is myself. And I’m only talking about the movies. Can you imagine what the wierdness would feel like if it involved a person? I can imagine it, have imagined it, and it ain’t pretty.
Last Sunday though, Jeremy invited me to see ‘Note by Note: The Making of Steinway L1037’ at the Film Forum and the voice and I became reacquainted. It wasn’t the film, although this thoroughly entertaining tale following the contruction of a Steinway grand piano at the company’s manufacturing plant in Astoria, Queens was worth the trek. It wasn’t the company, although Jeremy is an absolute gem of a movie companion: great taste, thoughtful opinions, an honest laugh and a genuine desire to see and think about the films he sees. (Leigh is great too. I’d see a movie with her any day.) And it wasn’t The Film Forum with its amazing popcorn, its insane programming, and its Jacques Derrida recommended carrot cake gracing the display case. (It’s true. Check it out.)
It was the popcorn.
The Film Forum has the best cinema popcorn I have ever tasted, which is weird because they don’t use butter. It wasn’t the physical fact of the popcorn that did it. Bars serve popcorn which rarely has an effect beyond curing an drunken case of the munchies. Satisfying? Yes. Therapeutic? Not so much.
Have you ever picked up exercising after a long period without it? There’s usually a moment – for me, about five minutes in – when the body recognizes what’s happening. It remembers the activity and adjusts. The moment may be fleeting. Your body may also remember the period of inactivity and tire quickly. But the body is not just remembering and action. The action brings with it a sensation and the sensation carries deep seeded emotions. It amplifies the hidden voice.
During the film, Jeremy and I shared the popcorn and as I popped piece after puffy piece into my mouth, it came back to me, how much I missed being at the movies. Watching the previews, putting my feet up on the seat in front of me, getting lost in the story. I ate that popcorn. I scarfed. I did some serious eating. Near the middle of the film, the popcorn was gone. But it didn’t matter. By that time I, and my love for the movies, was back.
Mini-Reviews –
No Country for Old Men – The new Cohen Brothers movies is relentlessly bleak. The world of the film is unforgiving and its inhabitants ruthless, psychotic, sociopathic and (is this even necessary?) violent. Tommy Lee Jones is amazing; his chiseled face masks a core of helplessness and, most importantly, he acts as the film’s soul, something I never would have expected of this Republican ex-roomate of Al Gore. I loved him. It is also incredibly frightening. Javier Bardim scared the living crap out of me and is the scariest film character since the spectre of Keyser Söze haunted ‘The Usual Suspects.’
Eastern Promises – Viggo Mortensen speaks with a Russian accent. He plays Nikolai, the driver and best friend of Kirill (well played by Vincent Cassell), the son of a russian mobster, Semyon (the annoyingly level-headed – this is a compliment – Armin Mueller-Stahl). He is smarter than he lets on and is not really who he seems. Naomi Watts speaks with an English accent. She plays a midwife who finds a diary written by a 14- year old girl held captive by one of the main characters. I won’t say which one. The film is a class act all around: well written, acted, directed and shot. David Cronenberg fills his film with power struggles, double crosses, complicated characters and unexpected acts of humanity. It’s an interesting film that never quite comes to life. It rolls along with a cold efficiency that never quite lets you into the secret of its humanity. This is probably intentional. I’m still trying to figure out why. This probably has more to say about me than it does about the film. But isn’t that the point?
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